CREDITORS
A TRAGICOMEDY
1889

PERSONS

TEKLA
ADOLPH, her husband, a painter
GUSTAV, her divorced husband, a high-school teacher (who is
travelling under an assumed name)

SCENE

(A parlor in a summer hotel on the sea-shore.  The rear wall has a door opening on a veranda, beyond which is seen a landscape.  To the right of the door stands a table with newspapers on it.  There is a chair on the left side of the stage.  To the right of the table stands a sofa.  A door on the right leads to an adjoining room.)

(ADOLPH and GUSTAV, the latter seated on the sofa by the table to the right.)

ADOLPH. [At work on a wax figure on a miniature modelling stand; his crutches are placed beside him]—­and for all this I have to thank you!

GUSTAV. [Smoking a cigar] Oh, nonsense!

ADOLPH.  Why, certainly!  During the first days after my wife had gone, I lay helpless on a sofa and did nothing but long for her.  It was as if she had taken away my crutches with her, so that I couldn’t move from the spot.  When I had slept a couple of days, I seemed to come to, and began to pull myself together.  My head calmed down after having been working feverishly.  Old thoughts from days gone by bobbed up again.  The desire to work and the instinct for creation came back.  My eyes recovered their faculty of quick and straight vision—­and then you showed up.

GUSTAV.  I admit you were in a miserable condition when I first met you, and you had to use your crutches when you walked, but this is not to say that my presence has been the cause of your recovery.  You needed a rest, and you had a craving for masculine company.

ADOLPH.  Oh, that’s true enough, like everything you say.  Once I used to have men for friends, but I thought them superfluous after I married, and I felt quite satisfied with the one I had chosen.  Later I was drawn into new circles and made a lot of acquaintances, but my wife was jealous of them—­she wanted to keep me to herself:  worse still—­she wanted also to keep my friends to herself.  And so I was left alone with my own jealousy.

GUSTAV.  Yes, you have a strong tendency toward that kind of disease.

ADOLPH.  I was afraid of losing her—­and I tried to prevent it.  There is nothing strange in that.  But I was never afraid that she might be deceiving me—­

GUSTAV.  No, that’s what married men are never afraid of.

ADOLPH.  Yes, isn’t it queer?  What I really feared was that her friends would get such an influence over her that they would begin to exercise some kind of indirect power over me—­and that is something I couldn’t bear.

GUSTAV.  So your ideas don’t agree—­yours and your wife’s?

ADOLPH.  Seeing that you have heard so much already, I may as well tell you everything.  My wife has an independent nature—­what are you smiling at?